Frequently, I munch on apples for two reasons; first, because I love red juicy apples, and secondly because I hate doctors. More specifically, I hate blood, needles, hospitals, and generally anything medical related. However, I do not have a clear coherent reason behind my hatred. There has always been something about the medical field that has irked me.
My fear of the medical field may seem small and rather unaffecting but it is quite the opposite. The fears infiltrate my life often.
As an athlete, I unfortunately witnessed many injuries on the field. From knees scraped to concussions, I have seen it all. The sight of my own blood freaks me out but the sight of someone else’s is even worse. Feeling anxious, I avoid looking in the direction of the teammate/or opposing player who is injured; however, guilt also consumes me. Morally, it feels wrong turning my back to someone who is hurt but I know that if I continue to look or help then I will ultimately start to feel uneasy. To add on, before I can even play on the field, I must complete my physical to make sure that I am healthy enough to play on the field. I hate physicals. Every time I visit my doctor for a physical, I also complete a regular check up, which means the nurse must check my hemoglobin. Inevitably, I cry almost every time (embarrassing to admit but it is true). Just knowing the fact that I have to not only see a doctor but also have to have a needle prick my poor finger terrifies. Anxious, my body stiffens and everything feels ten times worse than what it actually should. I feel bad for the nurses who have to deal with me.
As a student who took AP Lang, I had to listen to Chris Hasketts horrifying incentive to participate in the blood drive. Do not perceive me wrong: you should participate in the blood drive. It is a wonderful cause that you should take part in if you are eligible. However, listening to why I should join was not wonderful. Last year, I had to listen to Hasketts gruesome story about how he almost lost his foot back in high school while attempting to learn how to surf. Granted I probably should have stepped outside of the class to not listen to the horrid story but I thought I could handle it. I could not have been more wrong. As I sat in the back of class listening to the story, I could feel myself become increasingly light headed. Rocking back and forth in my chair while sweat dripping down my pale face, I was sure I would pass out. My fellow classmate, Raina Shah, held her hands high in case I fell back.
Sadly, I doubt my fear will ever subside because for some reason, my fear has only worsened with time. I do have hope that I will find new ways to calm myself in situations where anything medical is present and have better control over my reactions.